


Matches

by an_abounding_sentiment



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Forbidden Love, M/M, Organized Crime, Tension, kind of? AU, more tags will be added, the kuragins are sketchy but it isnt what it looks like
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-01-30 13:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21428632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_abounding_sentiment/pseuds/an_abounding_sentiment
Summary: Fedya Dolokhov has never had anything to lose, but that does not mean he appreciated the suggestion of putting him with a boy he does not even know the name of for the next who knows how long. The gravity of the situation is not helping. And the other side of the mission isn't having any easier of a time.
Relationships: Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, Marya Dmitryevna Akhrosimova/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina, Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina
Comments: 15
Kudos: 21





	1. Stupidity: Anatole and Dolokhov

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of these tags are for future chapters! Also this is my first crack at Anatole and Fedya, so please be kind! 
> 
> To be honest guys, I have not edited this and it was primarily written for the sole purpose of procrastinating starting a paper due in less than twelve hours. Also, note: Fedya's name is intentionally changed to Fyodor for the moment being.

The building was on fire, the blonde boy was behind him, and that's all he needed to know in order to keep running. It was a sloppy execution; a large part of him wondered if this other guy knew that. All he repeated was that at the very least he wasn't the one holding the matches. Or, well, that was partially true: they weren't in his possession anymore. For his own sanity, he insisted that counted.

"You really did that, huh?" The blonde asked in a voice that was almost giddy, and too excited for Fedya to be comfortable with it. While he himself was admittedly morally grey, this guy seemed plain ignorant--not aware of the stakes, or not aware of who exactly they were involved with. This wasn't something to look at and bounce around like a child: it was something to run the hell away from. "That was badass," 

"Listen," Fedya's voice was stern, glancing back over his shoulder as the foundation of the estate began to collapse in on itself. "It got the job done, didn't it? Run. Now," He barked, not giving the blonde time to respond or try and spark conversation, having learned quite early on in this objective the lack of silence was a constant in regards to his new..._partner. _

"I mean-" The blonde chuckled uneasily, keeping pace and not the slightest bit out of breath. His unease, however, turned into laughter of genuine amusement when Fedya's foot knicked a branch laid across their path. It was the smallest grunt as the base of his palms landed on the pavement, but it was enough the guy was grinning like the moron Fedya was quite confident he was. 

"Stop laughing and help me up!" He hissed, glancing back at the growing inferno as he held out his hand for the other male to grab. He obliged after a moment, laughs finally dying down into giggles. It took enough time for Fedya to contemplate if this could've ever been a good idea in the first place. The kid seemed to hardly emotionally older than an a child still in elementary school, and Fedya ran with the question circling in his head of why, out of everyone--_every_ option--in their clan was this guy assigned his partner? Hell, he was childish at best and stupid at worst. "They said run west," The blonde nodded, but made no move to run until Fedya did, muttering something about compass directions as they picked up speed to distance themselves from the scene. They said to cover their tracks, but this drew more attention than their clan needed, and this kid was not making said task easy. This _stupid _boy, with his stupid sharp cheekbones, and his stupid perfectly styled hair, or his stupid jawline, and his stupid ignorant smile, and his-oh shit.

Oh, Shit.

Suddenly, it became a little more difficult to run from their crimes when the blonde never let go of his hand. On second thought, maybe the clan knew exactly what they were doing when they assigned the pair to be lovers seeking shelter from prosecution in the US. He tried to focus on something else, anything else, and settled on the fact he had to be careful given the amount of sense the blonde had. He'd been the one to bring a water bottle of kerosene of all things, and didn't pay the clear arson implication any mind. The stupidity and lack of forethought seemed natural to him, Fedya decided. The adjectives floated in his head with every stride until he heard the blonde mutter a swear under his breath. Within seconds, he was wielding a small blade from his back pocket. One hell of an instinct blondie had. 

"Say nothing," His voice lowered, and before Fedya could even react, he used his grip already on Fedya's hand to tug it with more force than he thought to be possible in the substantially less bulky of the pair. Fedya didn't admit aloud he was shocked at the far away voices he only now overheard, a good amount of time after the blonde had already reacted to it; Fedya had never been the delayed one. He looked at the blonde, who suddenly seemed years older: his expression was dark, lips pressed into a thin scowl, blue eyes darting around. Neither of them spoke, eyes settling on one another's as the running footsteps passed. 

They weren't rivals. Fedya winced.

They were the other tenants. The innocents whose lives had quite literally burned to the ground. 

'Now' He saw the blonde mouth and confusion was only written on Fedya's face for a moment before he was hauled to his feet, sprinting beside the blonde and far enough behind the crowd to not be noticed, but close enough to seem like the slower of the lot. 

And they ran until the other residents stopped, too. They'd all ended up sobbing with their chests heaving a few parking lots over. People were hugging each other, sharing similar condolences and thanking the Lord they were alright. Fedya expected the pain, confusion, shock and terror on his fellow occupants' faces, but didn't expect the blonde to be the same, wrapping his arms around Fedya's neck, sobbing in seconds. The black-haired male ran his hand up and down his new partner's back, and eerily took in how similar they looked: how easily they blended into the crowd--how easily the blonde made them into victims. 

"All of your things-" The blonde's voice cracked as he pulled away the moment a couple walked past them. "I'm so sorry baby," Fedya couldn't justify why it made his heart jump, nor did he want to try and mull over an explanation. Not ever, but especially not now. 

"Oh, Fyodor!" A member of said couple stopped, resting a hand on Fedya's bicep. Both of the couple that he recognized as neighbors had bloodshot eyes. "Are you alright?" Fedya paused, looking at the blonde who feigned a motion of comfort by reaching over and clasping their hands together and giving a visible squeeze. 

"I'm sorry, he's still processing I think," The blonde leaned in closer to the couple to whisper, almost as aside, followed by "I'm Fyodor's boyfriend. I'm so sorry we are meeting in these circumstances," He sniffled and sighed heavily, and Fedya used his now excused silence to be amazed at how smoothly the lies rolled off the blonde's tongue. "At least you both look okay," he pouted. Fedya wondered if he genuinely felt bad, or even concerned, because for someone so hesitant and troubled over initiating the action, he approached and sympathized without flinching. 

The conversation continued, but Fedya remained in too much of a daze to really listen. He really just burned his whole apartment complex including his own possessions, to flea the country with a fake lover he just met. He was in deep. Deathly deep. Then again, he didn't have much to lose. He couldn't say he cared much about losing it, either. 

"-Oh a friend is picking us up-on the way actually-but thank you," coming from the blonde was all he got of the remainder of the conversation before the couple and themselves parted ways, the blonde tugging him around with a despairing look in his eyes, occasionally leaning into Fedya for comfort. He only seemed to really stop when Fedya was forced into hugs and coos of 'are you alright' The blonde did however try to get him out and away as fast as he could, sensing easily the strain, Fedya not the type meant to fake concern. 

"Honey, our ride," Fedya felt a tug on his sleeve and met bloodshot eyes, never feeling more relieved in his life. He was the one that ended up taking the lead towards the car, draping his arm over the blonde's shoulders. Green eyes fixated on the scruffy man hopping out of the driver's side, coming from around the front of the car to pull Fedya into a hug. 

"Easy shit," Fedya whispered in Balaga's ear with a laugh as the blonde slowly placed himself into the car with one last glance back at the wreckage. 


	2. Oh, Pierre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other side of the task force's assignments did not go so smoothly. Comparing that to Anatole and Fyodor's, that's really saying something. In other news, Helene is a bit of a diva when it comes to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I finally created a second chapter to something!!! Thank you SO much for the kind feedback!!  
This chapter is just Marya, Helene, and Pierre with tiny allusions to Dolokhov and Anatole. Next chapter will be the group meeting up and getting the whole run down.

"Why aren't you going?" Helene inquired, nonchalance leaking through both her voice and the way she leaned back in the office chair, combat boots kicked up onto the redhead's desk. Her voice rarely lacked the indifference so often attributed to her, but when her eyes met Marya's, the older woman had known Helene long enough and deeply enough to feel the accusatory air that accompanied the question. Marya opted not to entertain the inquiry, swatting Helene's legs off the surface her legal pad was splayed over and busying herself in its contents. 

"Pierre is a good partner," Marya murmured, never looking up from the notes scrawled on the yellow papers. She wasn't, however, able to block out the other girl's prolonged sigh. "I've heard good things,"

"Well I've heard he's clumsy and an idiot," Helene snapped, standing up from the chair with her palms braced on the edge of Marya's desk; it didn't make much sense this time around to get the agent riled up, but Marya couldn't blame her for that given she didn't exactly understand the pairing, either. Surely, Helene wouldn't have gotten what she wanted regardless, though giving her just about anyone else probably would have gone over better. Perhaps it was a punishment for last objective, but major clan-altering tasks weren't the time to piss Helene Kuragin off for the sake of revenge. " _ Why _ did  _ you _ pass this?" The girl snarled, leaning dangerously close to the older redhead. There were few brave enough to get so close, but the two girls had been plenty closer in far more compromising places and wearing a lot less, and Helene made sure she never forgot that. 

"Passing things isn't in my job description, baby girl," Marya leaned just the slightest bit closer, voice thick with warning. "Pierre is yours," The redhead spoke each word long and drawn out conclusively, daring to try and meet the other girl's eyes. Helene took the chance to shy away, not giving Marya the satisfaction of seeing how heavy-handed her dread was. She was strong and she could handle anyone. Going nose to nose with their higher-up was only the tip of the iceberg, and the brunette found herself repeating it over and over: she could handle anything, she could handle pretending to be married to an awkward bumbling moron if she had to. Hell, she'd be the best damn wife out there. 

"Better be worth it," Helene took that moment alone to lock eyes with the other girl. Blue eyes met her brown ones and she felt her heart rise into her throat. She didn't look away. "I'm not pretending I'm content with this, by the way,"

Marya sighed, "Be nice to him," she cautioned. Helene rolled her eyes, finally breaking eye contact as Marya spoke again. "It wasn't his choice,"

"I'll make him cry,"

"No, you will not," Marya corrected pointedly, watching with an arched brow as Helene paced across her small office, arms crossed over her chest. "He's a newer-"

"Oh, is that supposed to make me feel better?!" She threw both her arms up in the air exasperatedly, reaching towards the back of her belt. 

" _ No."  _ Marya barked sharply, knowing exactly what Helene was reaching for. "You can destroy property  _ not _ in my office," Helene's dark glare only shocked Marya for a split second--one could never get fully used to seeing it--until the redhead matched it. "I will not be covering any more holes in my wall," She gestured vaguely towards a picture frame hanging on the wall. There was some abstract painting inside of it that most certainly wasn't Marya's artistic taste: one that made Helene smirk slightly. It was enough to divert the brunette's anger into smugness for at least the time being. It was enough. 

"This isn't his first, right?" Helene's voice finally de-escalated into a toneless inquiry, one of which Marya knew she had to handle carefully. Pierre was supposed to be arriving any minute, and putting Helene in a rage the first time they'd met face-to-face was probably more dangerous than sending two strangers out to commit arson. Just thinking about it caused a shiver down her spine. 

"No," Was the immediate response. "He's even worked with one member of the other pairing. He's familiar with the territory and is already into half the security surveillance and firewalls. He's been doing this long enough," Marya opted not to mention this was his first undercover for everyone's sake. "And Vasily favored him heavily above all the other options,"

"Right, because me and my father have such a shared taste in partners," The brunette scoffed. There was a moment of silence, but a beat was all Helene needed for a smirk to spread across her lips, "I would've rather had a different partner," Helene's voice dropped half an octave, cocking her head slightly and taking her time striding up to the woman, grabbing either side of her suit collar and yanking her closer. 

"You act like I won't be there, too," Marya whispered, lowering her head so the pair was maybe an inch apart, lips ghosting over one another's. 

"Well, with everything you've thrown at me today, I wouldn't be shocked if you said the objective flipped," Helene licked her lips, eyes glancing up at her with a fire Marya knew too well to be professional about it. 

The noise of a knock at the door caused Helene to groan, rolling her eyes, though not making the move to increase the distance between the pair of women. "Can't he wait?" She purred, manicured nail tracing over Marya's jawline. For such a strong, hard-headed woman, Helene made the redhead melt too easily. 

"Hm, perhaps..." Marya leaned in again just in time for the knock to be even louder, more feverish even; there was a faint muttering voice just outside the door, saying something about how awkward it would be if he came to the wrong 'run down office because there were a good amount of them covered in grafitti'. Both women deeply considered letting him obliviously babble on the other side of the door. It only stopped when they heard 'I mean, the paint is beautiful, don't get me wrong, I just figured the one a couple blocks down could've used some yellow-' and Helene abruptly shoved Marya away, pacing back towards the desk with a faint growl.

Helene threw herself into the chair, watching Marya straighten her shirt and button it all the way. "He is distracting, and I can't hear him fucking talk now; how on  _ earth _ -"

"Come in, Bezukhov," Marya spoke over her, warning glare up to one hundred. 'Play nice' she mouthed as the door creaked open. 

Helene visibly deflated at the sight of him, brown eyes casted disdainfully in Marya's direction. The redhead would've laughed at the 'you've got to be kidding me' expression on her face had it not been at both of their expense. Leading him into the room, she managed to keep her head high, pointing him towards the chair beside Helene's. Pierre hadn't gotten a good look at Helene because of the way she ducked down, busying herself in relacing her boots to avoid his eyes. "This is Helene, your partner for this mission," 

Marya told Helene to play nice and perhaps that was the only reason she did so as her head turned in his direction, hand extended for him to shake. Part of her was well aware of where she went wrong last time, and similarly exactly what was at stake for her if the mission went awry. She didn't have enough ground under her feet to be anything but perfect. "I've heard good things," She explained with a honeyed voice and soft smile. Pierre didn't respond for a good fifteen seconds, blinking at her like she was some ethereal being who had just descended to earth. His face was immediately red and no coherent words came from his mouth for a good amount of time; Helene had to mess with the rings on her hands to keep from slapping him. Marya cleared her throat far more aggressively than one ever did naturally, but such things came with the territory of eyeing her... _ friend _ like she was a sack of meat. 

It fortunately had been enough to snap Pierre out of his daze, grabbing Helene's hand delicately in his own. He hadn't even spoken yet and Helene already seemed ready to kill him at the drop of a hat. Pierre hadn't seemed to notice, which was both shocking and a relief. "I've heard you're great. Like amazing. Like wow. Very-"

"Helene has been with us for longer than most if not all of our current members still on duty. She can and will answer any questions you have," Helene gave a curt nod, but a beaming smile, tapping her nails gently on her thighs. Lower lip between her teeth, the brunette tilted her head. 

"And what about you, Pierre?" Helene moved her hand from her thigh to his, leaning closer to him ever-so-slightly. Pierre opened his mouth to answer, but Marya saved the brunette the pain and Pierre the embarrassment by answering for him. 

"While newer to the clan, he is the most talented and impressive by far in the realm of technology," Marya looked between them both with a stiff stance but even stiffer voice, trying not to show this pained her as much as it did the girl staring at her like her world was about to fall apart. "Vasily says he is one of the most exciting additions of the year," Pierre nodded eagerly, offering a sheepish smile in Helene's direction. 

"And how long is this objective expected to take?" Helene fluttered her eyelashes innocently, but her smile was sharp enough it could cut glass. 

"Overall? Around nine months. You two, as a couple will have an objective spanning six months. The other pair that will be joining you will began theirs once everyone begins to settle in, but you all are expected to stay from start to finish," She could see Helene wince ever-so-slightly, turning her head away. Pierre swallowed hard, pulling at the front of his shirt repetitively, taking a breath.

"Is it, uh, hot in here?" He inquired, glancing from wall to wall, eyes focusing suddenly on the wall to his right, brows furrowing. "Oh, is that a Richard Prince? Based on the brush strokes-"

"When are we leaving?" Helene cut him off without warning, not willing to endure an art tangent right before a briefing. Maybe when they were married. "I have some... _ things  _ I have to do before I go," Helene made sure his gaze was focused on the painting and gesture to the corner of her mouth, where the color of Helene's lipstick had made its mark. Marya cleared his throat, once more gaining Pierre's attention as she turned away from them to slide up to her desktop. 

"Expect two days. Enough to get those matters handled," Helene smirked, sinking in her seat slightly. Pierre seemed to have rejoined their conversation once he realized Marya wasn't going to further his preferred topic of conversation. 

"Who are the others?" That question seemed to pique Helene's interest as well, the brunette sitting up a bit straighter. Marya gave a small smile. 

"You will meet them in the room. Both very well equipped for this mission and no one I foresee either of you having any issues with," Helene's eyes narrowed suspiciously; the redhead never namedropped the two, but when Marya excluded information it was either because it was a nightmare or everything Helene could've dreamed up. The extremes between such a tossup were not the slightest bit reassuring. At this rate, she genuinely wouldn't be too shocked if Marya hit her with someone somehow even worse than the man next to her. 

"When will they be arriving?" Marya exhaled, typing a few things into her computer and clicking several times before coming up with an answer.

"They just completed their first step. Balaga is on his way here now," Marya stood up, the other two across her desk following the motion. "We'll get set up in the meeting room. You can get to know one another better there," Helene popped up to her feet, Pierre was a bit slower, practically having to jog to keep up with the two women who did not once glance back. 

Marya led them into the meeting room with Helene directly by her side, prolonging her freedom from him as long as humanly possible. The redhead said a prayer inside her head, because there was no way the brunette would survive the man whose wit seemed as sharp as a circle. She had to, but lord knew how she'd pull that off. Helene leaned into her side, breath tickling her ear "I really pissed Vasily off, didn't I?" Marya chose very carefully not to give an answer. 


	3. Objective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of a filler chapter than anything, but has a lot of plot-based details that are kind of essential for the future I guess??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY I TAKE SO LONG AHHHHH. Nothing like some missions in gated communities amirite

"You have to be fucking kidding me," Pierre wasn't looking up at the time Helene made that comment nor did he glance up at the sound of the door opening that occupied it, but he could see her legs crossed up on the table in his peripheral vision. She hadn't looked at him much, if at all, throughout the attempts Marya made to get the pair conversing. He'd tried, but each time all the girl offered was flat one word answers, busying herself in literally anything she could find around the room. She spoke with the same intonation of vaguely pissed off, but then she laughed, and Pierre wasn't expecting such a musical sound. He wasn't expecting who'd just barged into the room, either.

"Oh this is, like, the _sweetest _gig of my _life_," And Pierre immediately shot his head upwards and in the direction of the door because he recognized the voice that suddenly filled the room. Seeing the flash of white-blonde hair in person again didn't leave as comforting of a feeling as one would hope a mission partner would. He gave a dramatic turn of his head in their supervisor's direction. His smile was as blinding as it was charming, barging in with enough confidence to make up for the fact he damn near tripped over the first chair in the room. Helene laughed, legs swinging off the table, Pierre's gaze moved to the shorter though substantially burlier looking guy behind him with his arms crossed. He didn't enter the room right away, even as Anatole did, but he didn't need to be up close for the tech genius to instinctively slide deeper into his seat, fumbling with the pen tucked into his shirt pocket. "Come on, _babe!_" Anatole turned and grabbed Dolokhov's wrist tight, pulling him along further into the room with a smirk on his lips. 

"Nice to see you both made it here," Marya announced stiffly, although her eyes never once left the girl Pierre was 'engaged' to. She wasn't looking, standing up immediately as Dolokhov entered. "I take it everything went smoothly?"'

"Flawlessly," Fyodor grunted, a small smirk beginning to grace his lips, although his eyes quickly moved down to his hand that was intertwined with Anatole's. 

"Good to hear," Marya responded in just as blunt of a tone, eyes narrowing on the agent with green eyes, a casual dismissive air accompanying the way she turned her head to look at Pierre instead. "Pierre, Helene-these are your partners for the mission: Dolokhov and Anatole. If I'm not mistaken Anatole is no stranger to any of you," Pierre was trying to uncode the implications of her tone, face burning slightly at how warm his partner had suddenly became at the sight of the less than tactful blonde that came stumbling into the room. "And this is Dolokhov. He's a reliable agent,"

"Hm, I can see it," Helene wasn't shy in how her eyes moved up and down the newcomer's body. It wasn't subtle but the smug grin on her features was, lip between her teeth. Fedya chuckled, but didn't move or have any real reaction Pierre could detect otherwise. God, the things he'd do for that man's confidence. For anyone's in the room except his own. Helene moved her hand onto his arm, a chill running up his spine, although she hadn't looked at him since their intial greeting-now no exception as she focused on Anatole, eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

"Helene. Rolls off the tongue," Fedya commented, voice low. 

"Okay, great," Marya's voice was loud enough Pierre almost jumped. Helene simply snickered, looking up to their superior with an innocent tilt of her head. "Pierre, I suspect you have the ground plans, yes?" Pierre stood up slowly, wide eyed and digging through his bag at a pace that was almost frantic. Anatole and Fyodor glanced over at him; the redhead took the distraction to stare at Helene, glare burning as she mouthed _'Mine.'_ The wink that Helene sent in direction made her feel seconds away from fainting. It was a lot harder to focus on Pierre with Helene's eyes on her; whether she was doing it as a means of childish indignation towards the assignment or for the pleasure of watching Marya squirm no one would ever know, because it wasn't a secret the brunette would tell.

In the time Pierre had been talking, Anatole interrupted him on at least three separate occasions: one to guide Fyodor further into the room, once to make a scene in pulling a chair out, and the last to turn to the brunette and say quite loudly: "Pierre?! I can't believe this-"

"And then here are the gates to the community-" Pierre had tried again, pointing to the edge of the community circle. 

"Oh my God." Anatole's voice was loud, making no effort at all to keep his commentary quiet.

"Where one of the targets live. They are suspected to have other-" Pierre tried to match his volume awkwardly, looking around unsteadily. His gaze was pleading in Marya's direction, although the woman seemed preoccupied, likely already having seen these images hundreds or thousands of times before. 

"This is too funny," Anatole gawked, slapping his knee lightly. At least Helene was whispering. It was the most kindness she'd shown since they moved from Marya's office. 

"-People that are supposedly part of the operation deeper in the community. They are part of a variance, and they make have hacked into the gate cameras by the co-"

"I mean, like, not for you, but..." Finally Marya seemed to glance at him, seeing the helplessness in his stare as his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, mouth limply falling open but not even attempting to speak again. He was shocked, however, when her eyes moved off of him, saying nothing and moving back to her area of focus. Marya hadn't even helped him. "I think-"

"We need to know where they live, shush," Helene cut him off, pointedly turning towards Pierre with a cringing smile. "Sorry, continue," Helene urged him; Pierre reluctantly didn't bring up the fact that had been brought up long ago, sighing loudly and continuing while passing her a smaller version of the ground plan.

"They are scattered around the neighborhood. There's this building-a huge house-that has been under construction for a little over half a decade," He explained, pointing over at the house circled in blue highlighter. Helene's eyes scanned over the ground plan for only a brief moment, three seconds tops, before sliding it across the table to the blonde. Pierre pushed the spectacles down his nose, head tilting curiously. "You don't want to look at it longer?" The look Helene gave him was something between a contemplation of homicide and self-pity, blinking at him. She waited for him to take it back. And when he didn't, Anatole had to muffle his laugh. 

The humored "She is going to scalp him," coming from Anatole was not reassuring to Pierre in the slightest. He covered his mouth with the side of his fist, turning to look at Marya with a smile on his features, "You sure about this, Marya?" Marya placed her forehead between her thumb and pointer finger, sighing, though Pierre couldn't tell if it was for Anatole or himself. Regardless, Pierre didn't take it back. 

"No need," Was all she said, crossing her arms and focusing her glare onto Marya. 

"So who are we looking for?" Fedya was the one to break the silence, questions in his eyes that unlike, Pierre, managed to stay to himself.

"Bolkonskys," Marya's voice was grave, "You will try to befriend the two children, _not _the father. Andrei and Mary. The father lives right by the gate, and his daughter Mary lives directly across the street from the project home,"

"The other kid is...?"

"Isn't there," Marya huffed, "You're going to find him,"

"So let the games begin," Fedya explained with a smirk on his lips, rubbing his hands together. "When are we leaving?" 

"You and Anatole have a flight in six hours. We are transporting your stuff. Helene and Pierre, you will arrive tomorrow,"

"And our budget is...?" Marya's eyes narrowed, although it was safe to say no one in the room was surprised. 

"Start packing," Marya knew better than to answer. Helene was the first to move, pushing out her chair with more force than necessary and walking towards the door, only turning once to make sure Pierre was behind. Anatole grabbed Fedya's hand, pulling him out of the room, giggling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading friends! Feedback makes my soul happy :)


	4. Liquor on the Shelf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helene is not happy about her assignments, and she wants all of the world to know. Fortunately, at least Fyodor does not seem so bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BACK  
I promise I didn't forget this fic, lol. I just need to be in a ~mood~ to write it.  
I haven't had the chance to edit it, but I'll probably do that tomorrow!

Helene sat upon a leather chair, the heel of her boot hooked around the leg of Marya's desk. She said nothing. Not because she had nothing to say, but because she is watching her. Brown eyes scrutinzed every inch of her face like it was an enemy on its own. Like she had not touched pale skin in times-places-she probably shouldn't have. Really, she never should have touched Marya at all. She probably could have avoided trouble if she tried. But who was a Kuragin if they didn't go after the things that interested them? Feeling a lot less betrayed than Helene was right now, conclusively. 

Marya opted not to say anything right away, either. Helene needed to make the moves on this one; if she didn't, Helene was not known to keep an even temper. Helene had the coldness of her father but the temper of her siblings; at the very least, Anatole gave warning signs. Sometimes it was intriguing and at its best something for Marya to play with. It was not as enjoyable when she had to know she caused it. The redheaded woman forced blue eyes downward. Her hands worked over the legal pad for the seventh time in the span of three minutes, fingers dancing over the flight times. She busied herself in it, ignoring brunette all together in favor of any other meeting notes.

“You lied to me,” Helene snarled, slamming her hand down on the desk, but Marya did not flinch, didn’t even look up. 

“Because if I told you while he was in there you would have already compromised the prospect of doing a good job,” Marya explained matter-of-factly, showing no struggle in leveling her voice. Helene's teeth bared, but again she did not speak. Helene was a fighter until the very end, but even moreso she was logical. Marya had only been telling her the truth she did not wish to hear. 

"You could have said neither," She settled on eventually, kicking the leg of the desk and smirking as the pen was using jumped across the stage. She deserved it. 

"Bitch," Marya scoffed. 

"Am I  _ really  _ the bitch here?" Helene's nails dug into the underside of the leather she was sitting on, seeming to wipe the self-satisfaction off her face quick enough it felt like whiplash. "You lied to me," 

It Marya with shocking weight that Helene was actually upset with her. That hadn't happened before. "At least I told you about Pierre,"

"At least?!" 

Marya hesitated; it probably wasn't the best thing to say, and these walls may have been sound isolating, but they were not soundproof, and Helene's voice was dangerously close to screaming. "I was advised to refrain-"

"You  _ did  _ refrain. Until the last possible second, Marya!" Helene tossed her arms up in the air; she didn't understand what Marya was not understanding. "You blindsided me and thought I'd be cool with it?! Thought I'd just go 'ah yeah, that's so cool! I love being with a moron who commented on abstract art before we even met for lord knows how long instead of my-"

" _ Elena."  _

"Don't call me that,"

The silence was long. Marya swallowed. "I got your brother," Helene slammed her elbows down on her desk, burying her face in her hands. "Helene, it is fine. He is a good-"

"Please, for hell's sake just shut up and come over here," Marya chuckled, if anything a bit apprehensively. Nonetheless, angry sex had never been bad sex. 

\--

Fyodor knew a lot of things. He knew how to work just about any gun put in his hands, to pick locks and turn off security cameras. He added 'how to commit arson' just today. In fact, he did so while sitting on top of an empty suitcase, finger slamming away on the keys as if they were just another target who deserved to be killed. The room was never too crowded in any of the times he'd seen it, and he had created some kind of attachment to it over the duration of his visits. He'd occasionally spot a discarded book or cleaning supplies haphazardly strewn about, or even a festive blood stained article of clothing. The image passed through his mind in a version of thankfulness he'd never added to that pile. That he didn't after this fool blasting the Pussycat Dolls just a bit too loud threw dress shirts into a suitcase was the man he'd he'd ran away with. 

He  _ was currently  _ running away with.

Fyodor wondered how his mother would react. How his sister would react. How they would feel knowing all the things he did that would terrify them. Then again, they'd never find out. They hadn't before-only wished him well whenever he left for months at a time. It wasn't a lack of compassion-he knew that-rather the fact they did not believe he was on the most wanted list in several countries, and should have been on plenty more if he ever got caught. To say he was not hired for sloppiness was an understatement. 

It was one of the main questions he built: why did they put him with a blonde idiot just because he could cry in front of a couple people. Just because he could confuse every part of him in well under a minute wasn't a good enough excuse. Forget the jawline, and the cheekbones, and the eyes, and the smile, and the-

"Earth to Fyodor?? Is someone in there?" 

Fyodor immediately peered over his shoulder and up at the blonde boy who had come from behind him seemingly out of nowhere. There was a certain childlike innocence to his eyes, featherlight footsteps muted over his racing thoughts. His smile was easy; it was never hard for him to keep it there. Whether it was genuine or not he'd likely never know, and wasn't sure he wanted to. He'd seen the boy cry not even a day prior to moving with him, and green eyes couldn't help taking Anatole in over and over again. Detail by detail. Still, Anatole remained patient. If anything, his head tilted the slightest bit over time in light of the close investigation. Though, to be fair, Anatole was quite used to being stared at. Admired for years, sought after by men and women alike, none of which he liked enough to keep around. 

"Huh?" Finally, Fyodor spoke and Anatole smiled a bit to himself, clearing his throat and raising his brows. 

"I asked if you knew what kinds of weapons they would for us when we arrive," It took Fyodor a couple of seconds to register what he said. It was hard to do so when the man in front of him looked like that. It would have been distracting anywhere: whether on the streets or at a night club, but it was even moreso now. he could not for the life of him wrap his around the fact this angelic-looking man had been just as terrible as himself. That this man had done likely unspeakable things, yet smiled like a child asking about going to an ice cream shop. Fyodor couldn't decide if that excited him or struck terror through his heart. 

"Oh, I don't know," Fyodor noted absent-mindedly, more focused on trying to decide the color of Anatole's eyes. 

"What do you want to do for four hours?" Anatole asked quickly; Fyodor's answer wasn't exactly the kind you could respond to. "I was thinking about going out with Helene for drinks,"

And just as he became serious, he became a fool all over again. "Do you have time for that?"

"We can always make time for that," Fyodor had several questions regarding the girl: mainly why Marya put him with Anatole if it seemed as if those two were plenty acquainted already. Not that he was complaining, of course. Except maybe he was. Maybe things would be easier to focus on if he didn't have  _ this guy for God's sake  _ to be looking at. If he didn't have the bone structure of a literal God. Just the thought alone made Fyodor bury his face in his hands, trying to hide the color on his cheeks. "What? Not a drinker?" Fyodor sighed. "I think she has vodka hidden in Marya's office, if you're worried about missing the flight,"

"No, it's not-" The black haired male spoke through his fingers. But speaking did not mean finishing his thought, and Anatole was beginning to worry this was not going to be as fun as he thought. 

"Are you in AA or something?" Anatole pressed, grabbing both of the burlier man's wrists and pulling them downwards, frowning. "Because no one can be in this occupation without a drinking problem. I refuse to believe it," Anatole explained with a dismissive, nonchalant flick of his wrist.

"No, no I drink," Looking at him, Fyodor could say with confidence he not only drank but was fairly certain he could outdrink the small-framed blonde with ease. Instead he settled on the image of Helene in his mind and cleared his throat. "You could invite Helene if she gets the vodka," Anatole smiled in a way that was almost wicked, and Fyodor couldn't explain why his smile did the same. 

\---

Helene did not look like Anatole in the slightest. No, her eyes were somehow colder than ice. Her jaw was fixed and she held the half full bottle by the neck as if it were an enemy of hers. She didn't have the sparkle in her eye and it struck Fyodor at an alarming pace that he may have been scared of her. She greeted him with a simple bow of her head, and Anatole stepped forward, pouting. He grabbed both sides of her face in his hands. Sapphire blue ran over her face the same way they ran over Fyodor's, and the outsider shifted his weight. He didn't like the feeling that was brewing in his chest. 

It only ached worse as the blonde leaned into the girl's face just the slightest bit, lips moving in a conversation Fyodor was not a part of. 

He cleared his throat, not expecting the girl to sway her weight to one side, reaching up onto her toes to lock eyes over the person they had in common's shoulder. "You know Pierre, don't you?" Fyodor scoffed and he was relieved to see her smile once again. 

"Vaguely," He answered with the word that described it as well. Anatole turned around, smoothly taking the bottle from the brunette's death grip and placing it on the table. "I don't think talking about him is the best idea when he can walk by the room any moment," 

"He won't come in," Anatole sounded confident enough Fyodor almost was, too. 

"It's the break room," The refute felt logical when he said it, but Helene only laughed. To think he had the confidence to flirt with her earlier felt absurd now. 

"Yes, but he is terrified of us," The blonde snickered, and turned his head towards the girl as she unscrewed the cap and gestured vaguely over to the glass cabinet. 

"He likes me well enough," 

"I meant  _ us, _ " Anatole sighed blissfully, dramatically turning on his heels to be directly by Helene's side, reaching around her to grab himself and Fyodor a glass. "Though I must say, I did not see you as a Pierre friend type," 

Fyodor seemed to consider it. He wasn't sure whether or not they could even be counted as friends. Maybe they weren't. Was he friends with anyone? Christ, did he have the social skills equivalent to  _ Pierre?  _ Though reasoning more to himself than to the curious eyes following him, he reminisced aloud. "I pressured him a bit. We ended up kind-of-sorta tying two policemen together and throwing them in the river then ditching at one point," However much Helene had just tilteed back was now spewing out of her mouth, eyes wide. 

" _ Christ,  _ that was both of you?!" She sounded oddly delighted, and Fyodor watched with a look of shock as Anatole's mirrored his, ignoring the girl repouring herself a drink and wiping vodka off the blonde's shirt with her sleeve. "That story is legendary around the precinct,"

"The fact the police didn't even try anything is  _ hilarious,"  _ Anatole stressed. 

"Oh please, you fool, what would they even do?" Helene swatted the blonde's shoulder, rolling her eyes as she sauntered over to where Fyodor sat, taking the glass offered to him. She braced the heels of her palms on the table behind her, leaning back well beyond into his space. "The clan is above the law," 

"But who is going to suspect Pierre, that blubbering oaf of a dude to be a part of-"

"Ugh, please, I'm done hearing about him," 

"But you were the one who brought him up in the fir-" Helene put a hand up to silence him, and much to Fyodor's surprise, he obeyed. It was a peculiar feeling to simply  _ feel  _ who had the power in that small break room. That room where they sat for what would be the last time for months. The moment was quiet, green eyes flickering between Helene still close enough he could feel her breath on his jaw every time she looked at him and the man who was too perfect to be real, pouring himself a shot. 

Two hours to decide just how poorly this was going to go. 

The answer came in the form of Helene placing her hand on his arm, Anatole stalking closer. "I'm sick of Pierre. Let's talk about you," 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated so I know if this is terrible! Honestly, reading everyone's work is so inspiring and y'all make me so excited to write every day!! Chapters will probably get longer as I figure out where the hell this is heading


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